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A Christmas invitation

A Christmas invitation

There was no reason Ronin couldn’t find his way out of Carson City for the holidays. No physical constraint was keeping him. No emotional attachment either, though there was the annual expectation he’d attend services at the Indian school south of town.

He’d been a part of the American Gospel Mission’s “Christmas supper and show,” as he put it, since 1877, when he first came to Nevada’s Eagle Valley, fresh out of employment with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. A couple of missteps and they had severed their relationship with the handsome ex-preacher. He’d gotten involved with a Spiritualist client—the beautiful and shapely Madame Bovary, a pseudonym it turned out, taken from a French novel he never read. He didn’t know her real name. The work since—here a bad guy, there a bad guy, a few more bad guys and gals in-between—had been surprisingly enjoyable.

He had nothing else to do.

So when the mission called, via the usual holiday card and Christmas gift—a fruitcake, of all things, but it was better than a Bible he’d never pick up or let alone read—the gunfighter hesitated.

He’d attempted to back away from the Presbyterian woman’s mission school a couple of years ago. Their relationship had changed—it needed to. He had no regrets, and she’d gotten married to a decent Mormon man who’d made a name for himself in eastern Nevada, when Ronin and an Ormsby County deputy hunted a short son of a bitch who’d killed a woman he’d loved in Virginia City, not that anyone knew of the relationship between Ronin and the ball-gazing twin, an eye-catching fortune teller also.

He held an attraction to spiritually-minded women, though it bothered him to say so.

He’d abandoned the rigid orthodoxy of the Episcopal Church in 1873—the year the Colt Peacemaker was made—leaving a log-bound Wichita church in the less capable hands of those who wanted it—a tired-eyed merchant, his ignorant wife, an angry town constable and a pack of pigeon-minded misfits and miscreants who couldn’t tell the holy story from their own, not that the church saw things that way.

They figured he was simply finished. And he was, though he had some feelings about that.

The thing with the women crept up on him, like suppressed desires often do. He should have made peace with the One who would never let him go, though the Divine so clearly did, allowing him to change his mind, trotting off after a once-in-a-lifetime’s adventure to see America’s expanding West. It would soon be gone, he thought.

What wasn’t gone was his affinity for the deep and the beautiful, and the mysteries that often live in-between.

When the Washoe boy delivered the note—“Dear William,” it said, as Emma’s notes always did—the still smoldering hollowness took over, a lingering hunger he couldn’t fix. And while the truly holy could wait—Nevada’s dry open spaces, crags of heartless burnt-over ground punctuated by the crisp smell of sage and pine, the occasional cheat grass that promised just enough to always keep both beast and man the short side of satisfied—Christmas was looming, and the presents were being packed, and the program was being printed that said, as it always did:

“Invocation, by the Reverend W. W. Ronin”

Though he was no longer one, and didn’t want to be one, but would always be seen as one by the woman who guided the mission, and who a long and not so holy time ago had guided his heart like the sky-born star that once led wiser men to a truth larger than themselves.

Emma Nauman was no one to be ignored, especially at Christmastime, when the town’s note-worthies—donors to be sure, some of them no doubt significant—gathered at the mission’s spread north of Gardnerville and Genoa, once called “Mormon Town,” just south of Chinatown, an area that would never amount to anything, there being no need for the city to ever expand into the Carson Valley.

The southern spur seemed to argue differently, pushing people and product farther down the Sierras than anyone would ever have expected, short of railroad folk, who knew how to ruin a frontiersman’s dream like no other institution save perhaps the church.

Time was the devil’s playground. And town clock’s—phallic protuberances towering above city skies—the secret servant of them both. Their relentless march toward the railroad robber barons’ and church reverends’ dreams robbed free men of space and silence and wide-open places ungoverned by either. He was sick of both, though the season didn’t permit his saying so, nor the venue Emma Nauman imagined—a short service of carols and readings, and candlelight, and a prayer from the man once who once held her heartstrings, and was as intimate with her as any human savior could be, though even a virgin once became pregnant. And it’s not like he hadn’t tried.

He picked up the card, beige, engraved and a spot of color to suggest the season:

Green—for the fact that spring would someday come and that winter wouldn’t last forever,

Red—for the apples on Eden’s tree that brought sin, and the bishops’ robes who mediated the sacred toward all who believed,

Gold—the color of sun and light, and perhaps the richest gift offered the peasant child who laid in a manger because there was no room for such people in a civilized inn,

White—for snow and purity and the wafers eaten during the Eucharistic Mass, heavenly food for fools and felons and regular folk alike.

He turned the cardstock over, and was surprised to see an additional note:

Thinking of you, as the season turns cold and lonely, and only the brave come in. Always, Emma.

There was no letting go of the past. It would haunt him this year as it did every year at this time. She would trouble him, too, until he showed up on her doorstep, like a Christmas child in search of heavenly nurture and protection.

“Should I wait, sir?” the boy asked. The detective shook his head.

“No,” he said, quietly. “Tell your mistress I’ll be there, and I will be happy to offer whatever prayers there are within me.”

The boy smiled.

And he smiled, too, though he’d would never admit. San Francisco, and whatever enduring darkness or undertaking lingered there, would have to wait.

From The Rage and the Reckoning, by Gregg Edwards Townsley, all rights reserved, November, 2015.

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A thoughtful afterward is a good reminder of just how much research Townsley does to write his novels. I’m drawn into the fiction and learn from the historical about the areas in which I grew up, yet one does not need to be a Nevadan nor a Westerner to smile while reading Townsley’s deep character development. My fear is that Ronin will settle down (again, no spoilers!) because I’m not ready for his adventures to come to an end. The world needs this thoughtful good guy who realizes even bad guys have stories. - Yukon Joe, Cornelius, OR
I read a lot of women's fiction, generally for story and character development, and I took the story East Jesus, Nevada to be rich in both. Ronin is a likable character who learns a thing or two along the way. And what fun dialogue to boot! What surprised me the most about this book, however, is how immersed I was in the old west world the author created. He really paid attention to detail. I felt like I was right there with the characters, sharing in their adventures. Since I'm from Nevada originally, this story took on extra meaning for me... - April Aasheim, author of The Universe Is a Very Big Place and the Witches of Darkroot series
Gregg Townsley writes about things he understands. The history and geography of Nevada, fast guns and fast action. I highly recommend his books! - Jon "Trickshot" Wilson, shooting coach for the TV show Top Shot (2010) and World Fast Draw Association champion 2004, 2011 and 2012
All the while I was reading Lady of the Lake I heard the late Sam Peckinpah's distant ghost-voice imploring, "Goddammit, Lord, send me back down there for one last movie...Gregg Townsley writes violent scenes the way Peckinpah films them, bringing us so close to the action we see it break into detailed increments. It enables us as readers to sail virtually with ex-Episcopalian priest-cum-bounty hunter W.W. Ronin over the head of his horse onto a sandy path, breaking his/our fall with a trained tumble that starts with a hand, then rolls to a forearm and finally to a shoulder before we're on our feet dashing into a tree-line. Townsley brings off a visceral authenticity in this opening scene and subsequent descriptions of fights with fists, knives, clubs and guns with a perfect marriage of writing craft and the authority of knowing what he's talking about." - Mathew Paust, author of Executive Pink, Sacrifice and If the Woodsman Is Late
I love the historical setting and detail, the pace of the story, the character shadings, and even the almost hidden lessons in geography, theology and sociology. his is a first rate western by any and all standards. The hero shoots straight (and often), the side - kicks entertain and comes through when most needed, the warm-hearted gal remains disconcerting on the hero's mind, and there is a "made for the movies" action sequence that beats any horse chase you ever read or saw. - Jeff Barton, Iowa City, IA
Having spent a few years living in Lake Tahoe I found this book a joy. I knew there was quite a history of the area but never was exposed to much of it. I was transported back one hundred and fifty years to my old stopping grounds. What a treat. - Kirk Larson, Forest Grove, OR
Wow, Having been to the places in this book made it even more interesting. The story was well written and takes the reader on an adventure through times long past. This was a great follow up on the life and times of the subjects form East Jesus Nevada, the first book of the series. I will look forward to the next book. - Lee Kiger, Tigard, OR
"Most things said and done, I try to fix things, to make them right. And if there's a dollar or two to be made along the way, I try to pick it up." Townsley is really finding his stride…The prose is a fine balance between pulpy fun and elegant wordsmithing, at its best reminding me of later Spenser novels. The story and characters are the most vibrant so far. Though the overall story is true to the genre, he throws in surprises in how the twists and turns get handled…Definitely worth the money and time invested in this latter-day western. - Jason Brick, author of Mastering the Business of Writing, The 9 Habits of Highly Profitable Writing and Train Wreck: The Farcas Foxtrots
True Believer is a delicious cook pot of murder, intrigue, vice and virtue beautifully crafted by Townsley with a touch as light as a Paiute Indian scout's footfalls. - Shaun Mullen, former editor of the Philadelphia Daily News, author of The Bottom of the Fox and There's a House in the Land
I haven't read a western in years (maybe decades). The style of writing in the old westerns was too slow for my modern taste, and the plot too predictable. East Jesus, Nevada is a fast-moving, intriguing, old west story brought to life by Gregg's Townsley's modern style of writing. - Phil Stramel, Long Beach, CA
A great ride, if you'll pardon the irreverent reference! The characters are believable and the situations based on historical lore and fact. I'm looking forward to The Lady of the Lake and any future endeavors by Mr. Townsley. "Please. sir, may I have another?" - Casino Fossel, Boise, ID
A great book with believable characters. If you are tired of the cookie cutter westerns then this is the book for you. Characters that are real, situations that are believable and a main character that has all the flaws just like the rest of us.
- SJM, Vancouver, Canada
With a wonderful blend and mix of dialogue and fun...Well-written and wonderful characters top off the book, with WW Ronin definitely standing out as my favorite. Woot! - Holly Hunt, author of The Devil’s Wife, Blood Moon, Tryant of Tarsit, Scale and Leather
Gregg Edwards Townsley knows Nevada like no one else. His latest installment of the adventures of W. W. Ronin is his best work yet. Captivating and engaging from cover to cover...superb writing about one of America's greatest eras. - Tom Bleecker, Hollywood screenwriter, publisher, and author of The Bruce lee Story, Unsettled Matters, The Journey, The Jet and Jolanta.
Home Means Nevada is a Western told in the skillful manner of the old masters like Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour. Townsley is a master wordsmith and his work comes alive with action and suspense. - W. R. Benton, best-selling Western novelist, author of War Paint, Missouri in Flames, mountain Man Justice, and the Fall of America series.
The W. W. Ronin Western series brings a fresh perspective to historical fiction, blending adventure with colorful facts of Nevada and northern California during the 1880s. - Linda Pendleton, author of Deadly Flare-Up, The Catherine Winter Private Investigator series, A Walk Through Death, and with her late husband, adventure writer Don Pendleton, The Metaphysics of the Novel: the Inner Workings of a Novel and a Novelist
A Western novel with the twists, turns and pathos of fine noir detective fare. Home Means Nevada demonstrates Townsley's knowledge and love of Nevada, firearms, moral quandaries and the questions that drive all men to chase their dreams and demons to every corner of the world. His best work so far. - Jason Brick, author of Mastering the Business of Writing, The Nine Habits of highly Profitable Writing, Astoria: Your Guidebook for Oregon's Gateway to the Pacific, and the Farcas Foxtrot series
Tommy's a man of few words when he's working, but when he's telling us all about it...imagine Sam Spade or Mike Hammer on amphetamines--a fistful of amphetamines--and you've got the picture. "Jersey Tomato" is a ride down literary rapids in a jet-propelled kayak. I laughed all the way. "Hell," as Tommy V. would say, "I'm still laughing." - Matthew Paust, author of First Shot, Nature of the Bones, and When the Songbirds Went Silent in Cheerytown.
Gregg Townsley nails the murder-mystery genre with a strong and compelling action and humor-filled narrative. Townsley's writng is remarkably consistent, with lively dialogue and clever banter between private investigator Valentine and his sassy, saucy, but tough wife, Babs. Fast-paced and sharp - D. C. Jesse Burkhardt, author of Travelogue From an Unruly Youth and The Crowbar Hotel.
This short tale of murder and mayhem on holiday is my favorite work of an increasingly prolific talent...A must for fans of noir and of gonzo tales by the likes of Lansdale and Hiassen. - Jason Brick, "That Writer Guy," and the author of Mastering the Business of Writing, The Nine Habits of Highly Profitable Writing and the Farkas Foxtrot series.
You are a regular Andrew Lloyd Webber in the literary world. You just keep cranking out the hits. - Gail McMullen Marinelli, Howard County Public Schools